Make It Up to Me
by jordykid
Summary: Finn/Quinn have an encounter on the USS Enterprise that ends with Finn's pants around his ankles. Don't ask me how this happened.


**I don't really know what possessed me to write this. I just wanted it, and then Dani had this to say: "put lots o sucky and teef running along dat manflesh." So this is kind of shameless, not very good, and ya know. **

Finn smoothed his brand new gold Star Fleet duty uniform – he'd made it, he'd graduated when nobody had said he would. 'You aren't your father," they'd said. "You barely have the test scores," they'd said. Well, they could suck it because he'd just received assignment aboard the USS Enterprise and he was gonna fly the thing better than any other damn person in the universe. Yeah, Cadet Hudson sucked with languages and sciences but nobody could had the starship touch like him.

He strolled through the bustling halls of his new home once his transport docked, eyes lit up like a little kid who'd gotten that sweet bike he'd picked out ages ago at Toys R Us. Sure, everyone doubted him, but he knew this was where he belonged—on the road, saving lives, keeping the galaxy safe. It was superhero-ish. In fact, the only thing NOT to like about his new life had just turned the corner and was heading toward him, a sour look on her face. His own expression dimmed and he looked away awkwardly as they came to a stop in front of each other.

Quinn and he had both ended up at the Starfleet Academy, but definitely not by choice. After the whole baby debacle and their second go-around at being a couple, things had kind of split off badly between them and they hadn't spoken more than a couple words to each other since. At the Academy, she'd gone the languages root—of course, the smart ass that she was—and he'd heard that she'd gained bridge privileges ALREADY. This was the first they'd come face to face since sharing a glance at graduation, and as always, he was reduced to a quiet ball of blush (he knew that if she found out he still thought she was gorgeous she'd probably phaser him dead).

"Really, they let you on here? I thought you were Farragut-bound."

Her voice is that mean sort of disdainful that makes him roll his eyes at her. He KNOWS she knows how good of a pilot he is because she was there when he beat everyone on the flight test by 30 points. He KNOWS she's impressed because he saw her face that day when he jumped out of cockpit. But if she wants to be a bitch, whatever.

"Sweetheart, don't act like you're not happy I'm not flying you around the stars, okay? At least now you don't have to worry about doing the walking when all you're good at is the talking. Please keep all hands and legs inside the starship at all times," he leaned down with a sarcastic smirk. "I guess that means we'll take your bitchy ones too."

Maybe that was rude, but seriously—he was an officer of the bridge too now, and he was NOT gonna let her get in his head early. Captain Kirk was counting on him to keep the Enterprise safe, and he was determined to finally be GOOD at something for once in his life. It was fine though, because she simply shoved him away roughly.

"Don't call me that."

She's gone in a blink of an eye, and he's left shaking his head after her.

The interesting part is that he's smiling about it.

**... ... ...**

It's been about a month and Finn swears to Cheesus that if Kirk gives Quinn that damn smirk ONE MORE TIME, he's going to break the guy's fucking hand off and shove it up his ass.

He doesn't want to think about WHY exactly he's so pissed about it, but the guy's a playboy and just because he sticks his space stick in every Starfleet skirt does not mean he has to stick it in Quinn. What's weirder though, is how Quinn will always catch him glaring at the two of them, the captain and the language specialist on the bridge of the Enterprise, in the mess hall, in the halls.

Every time, she catches his eye. It's weird, how their eyes just seem to shoot these heat seeker gazes at each other, full of….something. It didn't feel all bad though.

It's whatever, and he convinces himself that all he needs was to get laid himself, and so he goes looking for just that when his rotation ends and he changes into some civilian clothing that consisted of a white tshirt and some of his old jeans he'd found in his bunk. There's a pretty engineer, who works on Deck 4 apparently, that he starts chatting up over a few beers, and after awhile—he's not sure how long he's been here—he's thinking that she's into him. Which is nice, that's always nice. And just when he's about to turn it up a notch, because let's be real, they've been cooped up for four weeks now, and even he can read the signals in this chick's eyes, Quinn walks in.

Damn his stupid eyes for following her the entire time she walks to the bar.

This has to be an allergic reaction or something, because any progress he was making with this girl here—Jessica—just hit a brick wall because of one blonde from Lima, Ohio on Earth. He needs pills or injections or some kind of cure from the sick bay to quit his eyes from staring at her ass.

It's just a really nice ass.

He's licking his lips at it because, really, but his face gets hot, because he knows this feeling. It's not his face that's hot—it's her eyes on him, like lasers. She's smirking and quirking an eyebrow, and shit, he hates that she still gets to do this to him. In school he was able to avoid it well enough because he was too busy trying to impress, but now? SHE'S the one turning it up, and he's left squirming.

Until he's not, and Jessica's gone, and he's approaching Quinn, for some reason—like his body's on autopilot, beeline straight to her.

"Stop looking at me like that," he grumbles half-heartedly before turning to the barkeep. "Another of what she's having, times two. On me."

Whatever it is tastes like a weird kind of fruit, and she hasn't said anything yet, but he did catch how her eyes did linger on something not his eyes a second ago. Whatever, he's over there, maybe he can make conversation.

"How was your shift?" he asks, and it comes out almost like they're back in high school and he's asking her if she's okay after another fight with her mom about diets. In fact, he KNOWS it came out like that because she looks a little surprised, her eyes actually aren't burning him to death anymore, and she answers, bitch not included.

What follows is actually really nice conversation—one that he actually remembers (sorry Jessica)—and he's enjoying. They switch to beers as the night gets a little later to slow their buzz, but he's pretty sure it's not the alcohol that has them laughing so hard.

It's just them. And a bad joke about Noah Puckerman's Mohawk and whether or not the carpet matched the roof or something.

Eventually though, everything comes to an end—he walks her to her bunk. And, as it turns out, their good time, thanks to his big mouth.

"Jesus, this was actually super fun. Maybe if you'd been like this in high school, shit would've worked out better."

That's not the right thing to say apparently, because her eyes narrow and she turns in her open doorway.

"Excuse me? You're saying that as the guy who dumped me at a funeral for a girl who ended up running off without him anyway? I knew you were arrogant but I didn't think you were, THEN. It's a miracle we ever arrive at a mission on time with us toting your enormous ego around all the damn time."

Blinking slowly, he can feel the hair on his neck stand up because okay, he's really kind of pissed now. Ego? SHE'S the one who throws the froofy term 'xenolinguist' in everyone's faces all the time. And whatever, he was a dumb shit in high school. He's still a bit of one even now, which is why he blurts out what he says next, arms waving in a bewildered gesture.

"Seriously? You fucked my best friend. And then tried to sell me on a kid that you made with him after a quickie he didn't even give a shit about. So, sorry for being a dumbass in high school, but I was just trying to make my way. Don't put all that on me."

They're both kind of breathing heavy, and he knows he has more to say—it's like, pressing up against his lips wanting to just flood out, all this backlogged history between them—but he bites his lip hard to shut himself up and just kisses her, hard.

He kisses her so hard she has to stumble backwards into her room, his arms wrapping around her waist to steady her, and his brain is slowly catching up what's happening and telling him to 'QUIT THAT WHAT THE FUCK' when she's shoving him back, her tongue forcing its way between his lips as she slams him back against the now-closed door of her bunk. Her body presses against his in a way she never let it in high school, and all he can do is let his hands loosen their grip a little—the surprise at this little plot twist of their lives had him excited—and they drift down to take handfuls of her ass, that glorious glorious ass he'd wanted to make friends with earlier.

She bites his lip hard at that, but he thinks she likes it because she lets out a little noise and actually rolls her hips into him.

Well, fuck.

This is all happening so fast and really he just wants to see everything and touch everything and make it up to her. His hand manages to get up her shirt to rub at the smooth, warm skin there while the other buries itself in the blonde hair that she's grown long again. Their tongues are sliding, sucking, kissing away all the things they wanted to say, but didn't. Their hands are clinging to each other like they always meant to, and Finn isn't even embarrassed when he reacts exactly how he did in high school too.

It's her goddamn fault his dick's a steel rod in his jeans, with her all rubbing herself on it as they grind against the door.

She moans a little, and he lets her, their mouths breaking so that he can kiss down that elegant neck to her shoulder, his hand brushing her hair out of the way before slipping up her front, kneading the smooth skin of her torso. He's never had such a greenlight from her in his life, and he's gonna put the pedal to the metal while he's still got her convinced.

He has this whole plan, right, to show her what she was missing in high school—what they COULD'VE been doing on those study breaks she insisted upon. He's still sucking gently where her shoulder met her throat, and his hands move further up, taking her shirt with him, when he feels her own pushing against him.

Down into his jeans. Under his boxers. Her hand cups him firmly and he gasps.

"I always thought about doing this in high school," she murmurs, and he chokes. WHAT. "In study hall, whenever you were frustrated with your math, I thought about helping you with stress relief," she chuckles lowly against his neck and he thrusts into her hand in a way that says, 'fuck you for talking about this right now but holy hell we were on the same page the whole time GAH.'

"Seriously?" Her hand has wrapped around him now, her thumb playing with his tip like she knows that's his weakness or something. "Fuck, why didn't it happen?" he almost whines, his head slamming slightly against the back of door, and she sucks on his Adam's apple slowly, still working her hand, pumping him.

"It's about to, if you shut up."

The way she says that makes his eyes snap back open after they'd been drifting closed, and they watch, wide, as she stops stroking him, only to push his shirt up to his shoulders, tongue clicking in a way he understands that makes him pull it the rest of it over his head. His mouth has already fallen into a pout because her hand felt fucking good, all soft and small on his cock, and now it's gone and Finn's sad.

Only Quinn's kneeling in front of him, sweeping her hair behind one shoulder before swiftly pulling his pants open and freeing his dick.

Oh.

Finn is mostly hyperventilating, eyes glued to her because no way is this happening, but then she dives in, mouth wrapping and twisting around him, taking a long suck that he thinks knocks the breath from him. His fist slams against the door as he tries to get it together and enjoy the blow, but it's Quinn fucking Fabray with her lips around his dick, and that is just not something he ever thought would happen.

She's warm and smooth and he feels the smallest graze of her teeth that makes him shiver. His breathing deepens as he watches her with eyes hooded with lust, but it's as if she knows he's getting too comfortable and swirls her tongue hotly.

He clenches his teeth and glares at her, because seriously—he hates that her mouth is talented enough to make him forget how they were just yelling at each other, and he hates it more because she knows it too. That holds for about 3 seconds before he falters and has to concentrate on bracing his arms in the doorframe to stay upright. The more she licks up his shaft, the heavier his breathing gets, and he's doing pretty well until she surprise-deep throats him, sucking his cock all the way in.

"Jesus, fuck!"

It's half-shock, mostly pleasure, and she grins around him in a way that he hasn't seen in a long time. Like she's happy, pleased. It's a pretty smile, not a smirk, and it quirks his own lips up and sparks something inside that has him releasing into her mouth with a whispered groan of her name, their eyes locked the entire time. Had he been able to think past the white light of pleasure, he would've been impressed with her swallow.

His chest is still heaving when he slips from her mouth, and he's getting his bearings back enough to notice how her fingers hook into the belt loops of his jeans when she stands up again—they don't let go, either. He just looks at her, eyes wide and probably conveying too much as it is, despite their silence. That smile is still on her face, and once he realizes he's not getting a reprimand—that she doesn't regret it—he relaxes and throws her a crooked grin of his own.

"I—wow. That was…"

He's still working out how to say 'you give really good head' in a non-weird way, so he opts for the safe option.

"I'm sorry, for starting that stuff earlier. For saying—for DOING that to you, here and then. I don't—I mean, you just blew me, so thanks, because it was awesome, and you're just gonna have to take this rambly apology right now because it's your own fault I can't talk right right now."

That short speech leaves her with an eyebrow lifted at him in her typical Quinn way, but she's smiling amusedly and that's not the typical Quinn way. He needs something to do with his hands so they start redoing his pants and shoving his cock back in there because it can't just hang out if a serious conversation or whatever is about to happen.

Only she stops him, kinda, with a tug on those belt loops, hard enough to pull him from his position against the door. He goes willingly, shuffling forward curiously.

"You're right," she finally says, meeting his eyes as she continues to guide him further into her room, and it's all he can do to stay in the moment and make sure he's paying attention.

It's the least he can do after a real quality blowjob.

"You said some asshole-ish things. You do that a lot," she deadpans, and his mouth twists in a mix of embarrassment and indignation.

"So," she continues, and he's intrigued by the way she's looking up at him through her lashes and speaking so lowly. "Make it up to me."

**... ... ...**

By the time they fall to the bed, they're both smiling.


End file.
